Here I go, actin' like a Lobster again: up-taking Seratonin as I blow past a slowpoke on the post road. Heading for home as refuge from the whiskey Bar down in town. It's one of those places with over 100 scotches and even more bourbons and rums. It's a good place to drink experimentally, and also a good place to encounter liquor-bores. I had encountered a hard-core feminist liquor-bore, who had started what became an argument with me. It was my own fault.
“It's nice to sip a 12 year old,” I'd said.
She stiffened a bit and shot me a look. “I assume you're talking whiskey, right?”
“Of course, what's wrong with you?”
“I'm sorry. I guess I'm kind of down on men right now.”
“Whatever for,” I stupidly asked.
There then ensued a tale of an evil male, dropping his seed into her oven and producing two buns, then slip sliding away. Unique, right?
I commented, “The Human Race could have never gotten off the ground without the gullibility of young Women.”
A female IED went off beside me and I headed for the door, dripping pricey whiskey.
“What the fuck you say to her,” asked the bouncer.
“Wrong thing,” said I.
And that's a problem for me. I can't stay cool with a fool. Which is foolish, so I'm working on it before some fool shoots me. Studying a true pro at work with a Debbie Wasserman Schultz clone assaulting him was an eye-opener for me.
The artistry of Jordan Peterson is so subtle that a few things might slip by unappreciated. This video breaks down the skirmish into its strategy and moves.
So my resolution for '18 is to learn more suffrage for fools, if only for camouflage purposes. A special purpose arrow in my quiver. I do love me some getting on nerves, but that's a young asshole's game. We old assholes have to be a bit more sly.
CD
On Bitches
link › jameslafond.blogspot.com
Your Trojan Whorse
That Jordan Peterson is smmmooootthh and quick. He's impressive. I think fairly well if I take my time but I'm not verbally quick and facile like him in real time.
I read a book one time, I think it was "With the Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa" by E.B. Sledge, and he talked about how an old school Marine training troops would get them charge him and stick him with a bayonet on a rifle. They could not. He knew how to wiggle out of the way every time no matter how the troops tried. [I can't remember whether the old Marine would whack the shit out of them every time they missed but I can't help but hope he did]. Peterson is a lot like that old Marine. It's one of the things that popped into my head when I saw him.
From "With the Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa" by E. B. Sledge
erenow.com/ww/with-old-breed-peleliu-and-okinawa/3.php
"A salty sergeant conducted bayonet training. He had been written about in a national magazine because he was so outstanding. On the cinder-covered street of an old raider camp, I witnessed some amazing feats by him. He instructed us in how to defend ourselves barehanded against an opponent's bayonet thrust.
"Here's how it's done," he said.
He picked me out of the squad and told me to charge him and thrust the point of my bayonet at his chest when I thought I could stick him. I got a mental image of myself behind bars at Mare Island Naval Prison for bayoneting an instructor, so I veered off just before making my thrust.
"What the hell's the matter with you? Don't you know how to use a bayonet?"
"But, Sarge, if I stick you, they'll put me in Mare Island."
"There's less chance of you bayoneting me than of me whipping your ass for not following my orders."
"OK," I thought to myself, "if that's the way you feel about it, we have witnesses."
So I headed for him on the double and thrust at his chest. He sidestepped neatly, grabbed my rifle behind the front sight, and jerked it in the direction I was running. I held on to the rifle and tumbled onto the cinders. The squad roared with laughter. Someone yelled, "Did you bayonet him, Sledgehammer?" I got up looking sheepish.
"Knock it off, wise guy," said the instructor. "You step up here, and let's see what you can do, big mouth."
My buddy lifted his rifle confidently, charged, and ended up on the cinders, too. The instructor made each man charge him in turn. He threw them all.
He then took up a Japanese Arisaka rifle with fixed bayonet and showed us how the Japanese soldiers used the hooked hand guard to lock on to the U.S. blade. Then, with a slight twist of his wrist, he could wrench the M1 rifle out of the opponent's hands and disarm him. He coached us carefully to hold the M1 on its side with the left side of the blade toward the deck instead of the cutting edge, as we had been taught in the States. This way, as we parried a Japanese's blade, he couldn't lock ours."